


Ashen Shades

by CorsairLord



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 10:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13339566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsairLord/pseuds/CorsairLord
Summary: What if Alek never betrayed Revan? What if he had already lost a brother, and was broken by the loss of another? What if Revan regained his memories far too early?





	Ashen Shades

“You can not win, Revan!”

  
The Dark Lord of the Sith turned at the voice, crushing the Republic lieutenant’s trachea with the Force. He had been apart of the strike team the Republic had sent aboard his ship, and had been captured by his shock troopers. His mind had been thoroughly picked apart by Revan, and as such he was ready for the Jedi Knights that stormed-or rather were allowed to storm-his flagship’s, _Spirit of Serroco_ , bridge.

  
What Revan wasn't prepared for was Bastila Shan. He hadn't seen her since before the Wars, when she was little more than a teenage apprentice. She would've been completely out of place save for one very big fact; she possessed the rare power of Battle Meditation. She was the reason he and Alek hadn't taken the Outer Rim completely yet.

  
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I will not submit, Padawan. I have fought far too long to simply lay down and die.”

  
With an almost supernatural grace, Revan activated his lightsabers, one a deep crimson and the other a vibrant purple. He leapt into the fray immediately, and began to show just why Mandalore the Ultimate had fallen.  
His strikes hit their mark no matter how much the Knights and Master dodged. One by one, the four Jedi were cut down by Revan, like a scythe cutting away the wheat’s chaff. Only Bastila was spared from the Dark Lord’s lightsabers. By choice.

  
As Revan looked at the dead Jedi, he felt another piece of himself slip into darkness. Another part of Revanchist the Liberator, Revan the Savior become corrupted. Become Revan the Butcher, Darth Revan. He lamented their loss. He lamented every loss. His, the Republic’s, all. They were a burden upon his soul, one he would shoulder until the War was over.

  
“Kill me now, Revan, for I shall never fall to the Dark Side as you have, monster!”

  
Revan began to answer her, but was cut off as the whole bridge shuddered and groaned before a power surge exploded through it. Reacting completely on instinct, he threw himself at Bastila as a nearby plasma conduit detonated and scorched his back and sides as he shielded her.

  
He was no stranger to pain, but even he had his limits. With the last ounce of his strength, he looked through the viewing screen and saw the _Leviathan_ firing it's full turbolaser batteries at him.

  
“N-no...Alek? Br-brother? Why?”

  
With the last thought of his being betrayal, Revan slipped into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

  
Alek had been fighting his own Jedi strike team in the Leviathan’s crew quarters when he felt, an absence in the Force. That familiar, almost constant sense of family and courage was gone. Something had happened to his brother.

“Revan…”

“Mi’lord?” One of his Sith Commandos, Captain Gelanata, called out to him, turning from the final dead Jedi.  
“We must get to the bridge, Captain. Revan...I cannot sense him through the Force.” The tone in his Lord Alek’s voice was one Captain Gelanata had not heard since the Massacre of the Jedi Academy on Taris. It was fear. Pure, primal fear.

  
“Aye, Mi’lord. The Jedi have been beaten back.”

  
The lift to the bridge had taken far too long in Alek’s opinion, and by the time they had reached their destination, Alek was alternating between a cold fury and near irrational fear.  
When he stepped onto the bridge he saw all of the bridge crew at their stations. Only one person was out of place here, a person who Alek had been looking for during the frantic melee to repel off the Jedi strike team.

  
“Master! Look! See what I have accomplished! I ordered the Leviathan to fire upon the _Spirit of Serroco_ , thus eliminating both Revan and the weak Jedi! Now we shall rule the galaxy! AHAHAHAHA!”  
All throughout the Sydemon system, all sentient beings that had even an ember of the flame that is the Force inside them felt the hate explode from the _Leviathan_ that day. It was violent, dark and hungry. It was the Dark Side brought as close to it's true form as possible. And it all stemmed from one man.  
“Y-you killed Revan?”

“No need to thank me Mas-AAAH!”

  
“THANK YOU?! YOU WHO KILLED MY FRIEND, MY COMMANDER, MY BROTHER!? YOU WHO DAMNED THIS GALAXY?! I WILL DESTROY YOU A THOUSAND TIMES, AND NEVER GRANT YOU DEATH! I WILL SHOW YOU TRUE SUFFERING! I WILL MAKE YOU A MONUMENT OF DEATH FIT TO RIVAL MALACHOR V! I. WILL. ANNIHILATE. YOU.”

  
Every member of the bridge crew, from lowly guard to Admiral Karath remembered that day for the rest of their lives. The day Bandon betrayed their Lord, the day Lord Alek had become the new Dark Lord of the Sith. But most of all? They remembered Bandon’s screams as Lord Alek inflicted numerous tortures of the mind, as he held him aloft by the throat. Those screams haunted even Captain Gelanata’s days, even more so than those he heard on Dxun or Eres III.

“Admiral Karath.”

“Y-yes Mi’lord?”

“Divert all batteries at the Republic ships. Turn them into nothing but ash.”

“Of course Mi’lord.”

  
As Saul Karath walked towards the command station, he turned one last time towards Lord Alek, who was staring out of the viewing screen at the burning wreck of the _Spirit of Serroco_.

  
“Karath.”

  
“Yes, Mi’lord?”

“Could….could he still be alive?” Karath heard the pleading undercurrent to his Lord’s question and desperately wanted to say yes, not only for his Lord's sake, but his as well.  
They all loved Revan. He had led them through the darkest and longest nights of the Wars, to see the dawning horizon of peace.

  
“Even Revan isn't invincible, no matter how much we believed it so.”

“Of course. Of course. Alert the fleets. Tell them-tell them the Jedi killed Revan. The idea of promotion through assassination dies today. If any have a problem with that they may bring it up to me. And dispose of that...filth.” He gestured at the remains of Bandon the Betrayer, as he would come to be known.

  
As the Dark Lord of the Sith stared out the view screen he failed to notice the small boarding craft that chased after the few fleeing Republic ships, so distraught as he watched the Spirit of Serroco fall and break apart into the atmosphere of the gas giant of Sydemon II.

 

* * *

  
“By the Force, I will not let you die dammit!”

  
Bastila continued her chest compressions on Revan, still winded from carrying the rather heavy man aboard the boarding craft. When she had finally began removing his armour to restart his heart she realized why he was so heavy; his armour was made out of beskar, or as it's more commonly known, Mandalorian iron. One of the few substances that could withstand a lightsaber, it was immensely heavy and it was a wonder how Revan could even walk, let alone duel while wearing a full set.

“By the bloody Force, CAN YOU PLEASE STOP DYING YOU DAMNED SITH!”

Her answer was silence as she glared at the mask that concealed his face.

With a frustrated groan, Bastila carefully removed the scarlet and black mask, the air hissing as the hermetic seal loosened and fell.  
As she began mouth to mouth resuscitation, she couldn't help but take in his appearance.  
Shoulder length hair, a rich brown in color. His face was long and angular, with a neatly trimmed beard. The scar that etched it's way down across his right cheek to the left side of his lower lip didn't detract from his attractiveness, indeed it only seemed to add an air of intrigue to him. All these things were lost on Bastila as she cheered wearily at the fact he had begun breathing again.

  
“There. I believe we are even now, yes? You saved my life and I saved yours. Why did you save me?”

Once again her answer was silence, only this time interspersed with low, shallow breaths.

“Ah, of course. There is no emotion, only peace. There is no ignorance, only knowledge. There is no passion, only serenity. There is no chaos, only harmony. There is no death, only the Force.”  
Her mantra quieted the raging turmoil of her emotions inside of her, slowly calming until she was once again at peace with herself.

Checking the craft’s instruments, she determined they would dock with the _Liberator_ in three hours, due to having to chase the ships as they fled to the main battle cluster rendezvous point.  
Looking over Revan once more she felt a flicker of emotion from his mind, unshielded.  
It hit her like a rampaging Bantha, images and sounds.  
A beach, empty and desolate.  
A mask in the water.  
Thousands being chased into the water.  
Slaughter.  
A jungle, hot and humid.  
Jedi locked in melee.  
Bodies, mutilated hanging from trees.  
Mandalorians being executed.  
A darkened throne.  
She dropped to her knees and closed her eyes as she tried to stop the deluge of waking nightmares.  
Then like a bolt from the blue, Revan shot up.

“Where-AAGH!” Then the pain came back. Slowly, he leaned back up only to see a golden lightsaber stop his path. Looking up at the owner, Revan grimaced.

“I suppose I lost, didn't I?”

“Yes. Do not try anything or I will be forced to subdue you.”

“I would rather you kill me, Padawan. I have nothing left.”

“In case you have forgotten, Revan, Jedi don't kill their prisoners.” He looked darkly at her as she spoke.

“No. That'd be too merciful. You'll just strip me of the Force and exile me beyond the Rim. Death would be preferable.”

She was flustered for a moment before she regained her composure.  
“You don't deserve any less for all the death you have wrought.”

With a grunt of pain, Revan stood up and pulled himself to his full height. At six foot five, Revan had a foot on Bastila and glared down at her, making her feel like a simple apprentice being talked down to by Master Vrook.

“So the Jedi care about death wrought by my men, but not the Mandalorians? Telling, isn't it?”

“What is there to tell? The Sith threaten everyone, the Jedi would've stopped the Mandalorians in due time, but you were too headstrong and brash to see their wisdom.” As soon as she said it, she regretted it. His dark green eyes flashed a sickly yellow and red. He leaned as close as her saber allowed and spoke.

“Their wisdom? Their wisdom didn't stop the Slaughter of the Cathar, the Burning of Eres III, the Siege of Duro, the Enslavement of Onderon, must I go on? I have many, many more injustices the Mandalorians were allowed to commit because of the Jedi’s vaunted ‘wisdom’.”

  
She fumbled for her words before he pulled back and let a shuddering breath out. Her instincts to help him kicked in and she flicked off her lightsaber and pushed away his burned cloak, causing him to tense in pain and her to gasp in revulsion. The plasma conduit had burned his skin so badly that muscle was visible and parts of his armour- the leather adjustment straps and cloth robes-had fused to the remaining skin.

  
“H-how're you still standing? Or alive for that matter?”

“I'm not quite sure, but I don't think I'm long for it now.”

She looked in his eyes and saw they had become glazed over and were blinking rapidly. He then dropped down onto his back, weakly crying out as he felt his raw muscles hit the floor.

“No, no, no. You aren't going to die!”

“Bastila, I have no right to ask you this, but please promise me. Promise me that you'll kill me before they strip me of the Force. Please…” With one last breath, Revan fell into a near-comatose state.

“I promise.”

Bastila took Revan’s mask into her hands before she hid it in her pack onboard the craft and curled into a ball in one of the corners and fell asleep. When the craft docked with the _Liberator_ the first person aboard was the short, green-skinned Jedi Master, Master Vandar.

“Much suffering have you caused, Revan, still feel sorrow over your fate, I do.”

Turning away from his once apprentice he turned to the young Padawan still asleep in the corner.

“Padawan Shan. Bastila.”

“M-master Vandar?”

“Yes, young one.”

She tried to hold back her emotions inside of her, but seeing the man who had found her on Talravin so many years ago, she cried for those who she had lost in the battle and how close she came to dying. What she didn't expect was for Master Vandar to stand closer to her and comfort her.

“There, there, child. One with the Force, they may be, but shoulder the burden of their passing, we must, but not alone.”

“Th-thank you Master.”

“Of course, Bastila. Many are the friends, lost have I. Many more are the apprentices, trained I have.” He looked once more at Revan’s near-still form with sadness before he turned back to the now standing Bastila.

“He saved me.”

Vandar nodded his head slowly as he watched Bastila carefully examine Revan’s wounds.

“Much darkness, Revan has, undeniable. But much more goodness, he once possessed. Most promising apprentice, once was he. Lesser, the Order is, for his fall. Far lesser.”

“What will happen to him?”

“Know not I, Padawan. Dead, the Republic would see him. The Republic, we are not, though.”

Bastila paused at that and looked at Revan’s face, still a foreign sight to her eyes.

“Perhaps that is for the best.”

“Bastila?”

“He...he said he would rather die than have the Force stripped away from him. He made me promise to kill him if the Council came to that decision.”

Master Vandar could see how even a short time with the fallen Knight had affected the young Padawan. He had a way of making your beliefs his own and inspiring others to acts of great courage. It was his gift.

“Spoke to him, you did?”

Bastila looked sheepish for a second before she stood away from Revan and picked up her pack and nodded once.

“The Force, seems to speak through Revan, yes?”

“I...I wanted to believe him, when he talked about the Wars….I wanted to.” She was deeply disturbed at the thought of how easily she was almost swayed by his words.

“Revan, skilled duelist and exemplary Force-user, this is known. Unknown is his power to make an enemy, into a friend who would, for him die.”

“Is it a power of the Dark Side?” Her tone was hopeful, hoping that some foul Sith sorcery was at fault for her misstep.

“No, young Padawan. Possessed it always, Revan has. Even as youngling, could persuade all but Vrook. Unique talent, it is. Battle Meditation, have you. Revan, his power of speech.”

Before Bastila could respond three Jedi walked into the craft. She easily recognized Master Kavar and Master Zhar and could see the third-a Torguta-was wearing the white and green robes of the Jedi Healers.

“Healer, help him.” Zhar’s tone was clipped and short, the unease at being this close to what he considered his greatest of failings palpable.

“Still holding on, Revan? You always were as stubborn as a Bantha.” Kavar had an air of sadness surrounding him as he looked at one of his best pupils, fallen.

“Ahh, Masters Kavar, Zhar and Healer Skatata. Greetings, friends.” Both men bowed slightly to the wizened Jedi Master, while the Healer was busy inspecting Revan.

“His back...he was burned badly by plasma. When he saved me.”

The Healer nodded once, before she gently rolled Revan onto his stomach, the skin on his back staying attached to the boarding craft’s floor.

“By the Force, I need a stretcher, and a team of Healers at the ready. Better prepare a tank of kolto, the enriched kind. Quickly.” Master Zhar nodded and sped off to the medbay as quick as possible.

“Would you three wait outside? It'll be too crowded in here and I don't want you all in our way.”

Bastila, and Masters Kavar and Vandar agreed quickly and stepped out of the craft and onto the _Liberator_ ’s main hangar bay, which was empty save for a two Jedi guarding the lift doors.

“Padawan, you said he saved you? When?”

Bastila turned to the younger of the two Masters and began her tale. “Onboard the _Spirit of Serroco_. When that other ship-the _Leviathan_ I think-began firing upon us, a power surge caused a plasma conduit to explode. Revan sensed it a second before, and tackled me then he shielded me with his own body. After the plasma died down, I saw a flicker of life in him and dragged him to the boarding craft and sent us on an intercept course with the main battle cluster.”

Kavar nodded slowly at that before he turned towards the lift seeing Master Zhar bringing a stretcher and ten Jedi Healers with him.

“Master Kavar, what….what will the High Council do to him?”

Kavar looked at the young Padawan once more, a sadness in his blue-grey eyes. “Zez-Kai Ell and I will push for an attempt at reformation. Vrook will seek to strip him of the Force and exile him, as will Atris. Vash and Sunrider will be the deciding votes, but I fear Vash will only see the face of her apprentice who died on Dxun, while Sunrider will only see another Ulic Qel-Droma.”

She was quiet for a moment, watching some of the Healers lift him with the Force, while others used the Force to stabilize his condition.

“He would prefer we kill him.”

She had been so focused on the wounded Sith Lord, she had thought she had only said the words in her head. But she hadn't.

“Spoke to him, Padawan Shan did. Death, Revan wishes. To sever him from the Force, would be worse, as his mind sees it.”

“We….we will take that under advisement, Master Vandar. I must report what has happened to the High Council and Republic High Command. Different versions of course.”  
With a nod of respect towards his fellow Jedi, Master Kavar stepped into the second lift and returned to the Jedi Cruiser’s B.a.C.

Bastila turned to look at the small Jedi Master beside her once more.

“Master, did you feel that explosion of pure hate through the Force, as we retreated?”

The old Jedi nodded sagely, a wariness entering his eyes. “Indeed, Padawan. From aboard the _Leviathan_ , it came. Much passion, Alek has always had.”

“Lord Alek? But what would cause him to feel that much and that quality of hate?”

“Perceived, he did, the death of his brother. Betrayal, was it.”

It took her a second to connect the dots, but when she did she blanched at the ramifications of it. “Revan. Alek will kill the betrayer, then….then turn the full grief induced fury of the Sith Empire on the Republic, on the Jedi. Oh by the Force, what have we done?” She covered her eyes with the palms of her hand and took a few breaths before she began repeating the Jedi Code.

“Subdued the hississ dragon, yes. But in doing so, awakened the Terantek have we.”

Bastila closed her eyes once more and reached out through the Force, hoping to center herself aboard the cruiser. What she did not expect was the dormant, but very much alive, beacon of pure Force. It encompassed the entirety of the ship and shone with a muted grey light, that occasionally flickered snow white or jet black. As Bastila felt it, she traced back the source to a single person. Revan.  
Opening her eyes she yet still felt the Force in a greater quantity than ever before. On a whim, she tried to get into the mindset of her Battle Meditation and was shocked to find it came easier to her than ever before. With little difficulty she expanded the sphere of her influence to the entire ship. Then even further, until she encompassed the whole of the battle cluster. While a significant strain on her abilities, it was more a matter of dividing attention rather than one of her having a deficit of her inner reserves of the Force.  
Finally releasing her concentration, she laughed at the amount of Force all around her, not the power of it but the absolute sense of freedom she had within the Force.

“Wondrous, is it not, Bastila?”

Master Vandar had a slight smile at how happy the Padawan seemed, her normally serious demeanour replaced by a giddy twenty year old girl.

“How...how is this possible?” She began calming down, but it was impossible for her to deny her own growing sense of awe.

“Destined to do great things, Revan was always. The Force, eternally changing, brings about change, through certain individuals, always at least once in an era. Strongest example of this, Revan is. To call him the Heart of the Force, would not be wrong.”

Bastila paused at that and was puzzled over why all of this Force energy was available to her.

“Master, if this is Revan’s personal reserves of the Force, why am I able to draw from it?”

“Personal reserves, this is not.”

Now she was well and truly confused.

“Then...what is this?”

“Drawn to Revan, the Force is. Where he goes, the Force follows. Grows and is molded to him, it is.”

“He...attracts the Force?”

“Indeed, Padawan.”

“Why have I never heard of this...power before in any of the Jedi Archives?”

“Much knowledge, Archives hold. Much more, lost to the eternal march of time.”

Bastila nodded her understanding.

“Come, Padawan. Rest you must, after your exertions. Much work to be done in the coming days.”

The little green Jedi Master walked towards the lifts, followed by the admittedly exhausted Padawan.

 

* * *

  
**3 Weeks Later**

  
“He should be stripped of the Force, not rewarded for his betrayal!”

“It is not a reward! It is a shot at redemption!”

“He is too dangerous! He is the strongest Sith Lord we have encountered in a millennia, and you want him to be allowed back on the frontlines? Have you been touched by the Dark Side as well, Kavar?”

“ENOUGH!”

All members of the High Council turned towards the voice, even the angered Jedi Masters.

It was the usually quiet Jedi Master, Zez-Kai Ell.

“You go too far, Atris. First Maric, now Revan? Have you forgotten that we are Jedi, that we always believe in redemption? Or are you so blinded by your anger that you no longer consider mercy something you need to possess?”

“Why do you fight for this so hard, Zez? They were the reason that Ferga fell to the Da-”

“YOU WILL NOT BRING MY APPRENTICE INTO THIS! His falling is our collective fault. They wanted to protect the Republic and what did we do? We refused them. We offered vague wisdom and condemned them. Feh, we call ourselves the protectors of the Republic, the peacekeepers of the galaxy? We're no better than the Mandalorians or the Sith.”

Some of the Council, such as Vrook, Atris and Lonna were shocked by the contempt Zez held for them and the Order, while Kavar and Vima either held themselves in agreement or understood where Zez was coming from.

“What a fool you are, Zez. The Order is nothing like those damned monsters, the Sith. They are corrupted wholly by the Dark Side, where as we are the keepers of the Light.”  
“Save it, Vrook. You saw Revan’s Force aura as well as I did. It was grey, with flickers of black and white. He is not of the Dark Side, no matter how much you wish it so and what title he uses. And as for Maric...we failed him in all regards, exiling him without telling him what happened to him. Even now, we don't know where he wanders, so empty is he.”

Vima Sunrider was the youngest member of the Jedi High Council, and at times, the brashest. She had been one of the few that wished to send aid to the Revanchists during their initial forays against the Mandalorians and was instrumental in their formation as a Republic Mercy Corps. Her perspective was different than many of the Order, owing to the fact that many of her teachers were rather different from others, such as Thon and Oond Barr. The one that stood apart from most though, was the ex-Jedi Knight and former Sith Lord, Ulic Qel-Droma. A man stripped of the Force after the Great Sith War, he nevertheless proved to be an adequate teacher in the traditional Jedi ways, with his own unique experiences colouring his views.

“Yes, you would know what a man stripped of the Force feels, wouldn't you?”

“If that was meant to be an insult towards me or my late teacher, it shows how petty you truly are Vrook. I wonder if there was ever a time someone wanted your opinion or presence.”

Before the argument could begin once again, Zez raised a hand to signal he wished to speak.

“Masters, as much as I...disagree with the plan my friend has brought up, I see no other choice. Alek has become as ferocious as a Krayt dragon in his hate. We all know the Tragedy of Telos IV. If we are to stop the Sith, we must proceed with this plan immediately. I vote we go through with it.”

“I vote for it.”

“As much as I wish we didn't have to, I vote yes.”

“I vote no to this madness. He's too dangerous to be let loose.”

“I vote no.”

As a group they turned to Master Vash, the last vote. If she said yes, they would implant a new set of memories into Revan so he would lead them-hopefully-to the source of his power. If she said no, it would be an even split and the Council of Dantooine would be called in to provide votes.

“Force save me, yes.”

And so it was decided. The High Council would effectively hide Revan’s memories and identity and create a new one in it's stead. No longer would he be Revan, but rather, Cyr Halcyon. Born on Derelia, he was the only child of a former Republic warrant officer and a merchant who had emigrated from Corellia. He enjoyed a good education and a loving mother and father and was kind at heart, with a predilection for charity, selflessness and was loyal to a fault. He enlisted with the Republic Navy at eighteen and served with distinction in several of the battles during the Mandalorian Wars. He was now a chief petty officer aboard the Hammerhead-class cruiser, _Endar Spire_.

One of the things that disturbed the High Council was the visions of the Wars that were ever present in Revan’s mind. Face after face, name after name, Revan remembered every man and woman that had fought and died under his command. So sobering a sight, it quelled even Atris’ continued assertions that he was a being of the Dark Side, temporarily at least. What caused much discomfort was that in implanting the new memories and identity, they never had to provide artificial emotions or ideas such as kindness, loyalty, selflessness or compassion. They all existed in his original personality, never having been destroyed as the Sith’s non-self serving emotions were. This was a foreign sight to them, a Sith with the ability to be good. It only convinced Zez that what they were doing was almost as bad their near apathy during the Mandalorian Wars.

Finally, after months of suppressing and changing his identity, memories, and Force presence, they were finished with their work.

“Do you think this will work, Kavar?”

“I hope and pray it does, Vima, I hope and pray. Otherwise...we have committed a great crime these last months.”

“The Healers have said he's eager to go back into battle, to ‘fight the good fight’.”

Kavar chuckled at that, at how completely Revan that sounded.

“Yeah, I know. But...i've spoken to him a couple of times. He thought I was just another Healer for a while, before he caught on. He's curious why he wasn't taken to one of the regular troop hospitals. I had to tell him he was injured saving a Jedi-not a lie-and Dantooine was the closest hospital for the both of them.”

“How did he react to that?”

“He asked if the Jedi was okay. When I told him yes, he seemed relieved. He's shown to be kind and courteous to all of the Healers and myself...when he's not shamelessly flirting with us in an attempt to put us in a state of constant blush.”

Kavar turned to Vima and looked at her like she had grown a second head.

“What? Why? We didn't put any...desires into his mind.”

“No, but we didn't suppress original memories of such desires either. So where the new personality fails, the old picks up the slack.”

“So...the original personality had those-”

“Yep. I've actually had to pull a few of the younger assistant Healers off duty before they become too enamoured with him.”

“I-I never took Revan to be...well you know.”

“Neither did I. But he's damn good at it. Made me blush as red as my hair a few times.”

“Hmm. Hopefully that won't interfere with his mission.”

“Hopefully. There's one other thing.”

“What?”

“My apprentice, she's been experiencing visions. Of Revan.”

“Bastila? What types of visions?”

“Most are his training here and on Coruscant. His friendship with Alek and Maric. Their tutelage under yourself. And most recently, the first time Revan talked to Alek and Maric about joining the Wars.”

“What do you think it means?”

“Perhaps...they formed a bond when they saved each other's lives aboard his ship?”

“A distinct possibility. And yet another reason why Bastila should be aboard the _Endar Spire_.”

“I agree. I'll be with her along with a team of four Knights. Hopefully we'll be able to break through the Sith blockade and relieve the few resistance cells.”

“When do you set off?”

“In a week. Have you talked to him?”

“No, no I haven't. I...he was my friend. To see his face, but know that it isn't him...I can't.”

Vima patted her fellow Master’s shoulder in commiseration, knowing the pain he felt. “Where will you go, after we set off?”

“To the Rodia system. Alek is making a decisive push for it and within a month, will have a tangible foothold on Rodia. I plan to stymie and stall for as long as possible. Make it more costly to hold than it's worth.”

“And if he steamrolls the Rodian and Republic forces before you and the 33rd battle cluster get there?”

“Bog them down in a land war. Rodians value their independence greatly. They'll fight tooth and nail till the end.”

“Mmm. I wish you luck, my friend.”

“You as well, Vima, you as well.”

* * *

  
**1 and ½ Weeks Later**

  
Cyr awoke to the _Endar Spire_ shaking violently, ending his rather strange dream of a woman with eyes of steel and two men, one as tall as a Wookiee with blue tattoos on his head and the other with a head of shaggy golden hair and an unequally neatly trimmed beard. He shook himself of his dreams and walked to the window port to see a Sith fighter make a pass on the ship, knocking him on his ass.

With a groan he got up and nearly fell again as the ship sharply dipped. Deciding he’d rather not go down with the ship-he wasn't the captain for Force sakes!-he opened his foot locker and put on the black bodysuit that made up most of his armour, before he began putting the orange and gold plasteel plates on. By the time he finished, he barely had time to grab his blaster rifle as he heard the door open. Thus when Lieutenant Junior Grade Trask Ulgo walked into the cabin he was met with a Republic Navy standard issue repeating blaster rifle, MK. II produced by Core World Arms for use by the Republic Navy and it's Marine Corps.

“By the Force, a little warning next time, Ulgo. I was liable to blow your head off. Thought you were a Sith boarder.” Cyr lowered his rifle as he turned his back and grabbed his pack and vibrosword.

“Sorry, Halcyon. It's a good thing you're ready, we're abandoning ship. Engines got hit by an ion battery. But we have to make a push for the escape pods.”

“How many dead?”

“Most of the crew quarters got vented when a Sith fighter made a suicide run on it.”

“Fucking hell.”

The two made their way out of the cabin when their personal communicators lit up.

“This is Carth Onasi, all hands to the escape pods. Repeat, all hands to the escape pods. We're abandoning ship. The Sith have already boarded, so link up with whoever you can and push them back! Onasi out.”

Sharing a look, the two men reached the end of the hall and opened the door to see three Republic Marines locked in a fierce melee battle with four Sith Commandos.

“FOR THE REPUBLIC!”

Cyr had no resounding battle cry, only a roar of unbridled fury.

As they leapt into the fray, the Sith found themselves being beaten back by one man. A man who fought like some ancient Dark Side monster. A low strike to the left one, a downward slash to the right, a boot to the knee for the center. On it went, the left losing his right hand before Trask had stabbed him through an exposed spot on his armour, the right feeling the vibrating blade enter chest before he felt nothing at all as a Marine shattered the duraglass visor with his vibroblade, and the center saw angry green eyes a moment before he lost all sensation and saw a mass of feet and then he saw a bloody gold armoured body hit the ground missing one important part-it's head.

Turning to the Marines, Cyr saw that all were only PFCs, and looked at the one that seemed the least likely to vomit.

“Private, what's your name?”

“T-Turula, sir”

“Well Private Turula, I'm Chief Petty Officer Halcyon and that's Lieutenant Ulgo. You're with us now. Check your power packs, and let's get off this ship.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Trask, you getting anything over comms?”

Trask fiddled with his gauntlet’s now exposed comms panel for a second before a dark look crossed his face and he closed it.

“We got Dark Jedi.”

“Fuck. How many?”

“Twelve. The Jedi were able to take a few down but from what I gathered over the chatter, contact was lost ten minutes ago.”

“Position?”

“Port side hallway to the bridge. They were with Sergeant Major Braq and Master Sunrider.”

“Can you raise the bridge?”

“Tried. Static.”

Considering the situation, Cyr breathed in and out twice. On the second breath, his idea came.

“Alright. So we're blocked from the escape pods because of the vented quarters and we possibly have a dozen Dark Jedi and a few squads of Sith in our way, right?”

“Right, sir.” Private Turula supplied helpfully.

“So how do we cut through the Sith line?”

“How, sir?”

“We don't. We bludgeon our way through.”

“Sir?”

“Marines, how many grenades do you have?”

“Right ‘bout four sir.” One of the PFCs drawled out, his accent distinctly Outer Rim in its roughness.

“And how many of those are concussion grenades?”

“Two, sir. Two concussions and two fragmentation.”

“They have a timer function, correct?”

“Correct, sir.” Turula spoke up again.

“My plan is this; we take that storage room ahead, grab as many concussion grenades as we can then set up.”

“Set up for what, sah?” The last PFC asked quietly, wrapping his light green lekku around his neck.

“Why, for the trap, Private. Who wants to go home and tell their family they killed a Dark Jedi?” At this the PFCs looked wary, before the lone twi’lek stepped up first.

“If I kill ‘em, do I get to keep their lightsaber, sah?”

“Private, you kill one, and I'll make you a lightsaber if I have to.”

The private offered a half smile at that. “No time to waste then, eh sah?”

“No time at all. Alright, I want you, Trask and Turula on the left. Me and-what's your name Private?”

“Sedeb.”

“-Sedeb will set up on the right as soon as the doors open, start blasting. If their friendly, the IFF will trigger the failsafe in our rifles. And if their not…”

“Ten credits says their friendly.” Trask broke in.

“Sold, to the disinherited Alderaanian noble.”

“Screw you.”

“Ha!”

With a final nod, Cyr hit the open button on the panel, and before the door was open all the way, the impromptu Marine squad was laying down heavy fire inside the room.  
After fifteen seconds uninterrupted blaster fire, Cyr gave the ceasefire hand motion, a raised fist followed by a flat handed horizontal slash. Looking inside, the storage room walls were scored so much, some were still smoking from the blaster fire. The Sith were lying still on the ground, three in total, with a dozen or more cauterized holes through them.

“Search the footlockers marked CZ-68. Czerka supplies the explosives. Oh and Ulgo?”

“Yeah, Halcyon?”

“That'll be ten credits please.”

“I hate you.” Trask said as he grudgingly took a ten credit chit out of his armour’s inner pocket and tossed it to the smug petty officer.

“Love you too, LT.”

“Sir, you're uh, you're gonna wanna see this.” Sedeb called out, crouched next to a larger than usual foot locker.

“What is it, Pri-those are thermal detonators. And adhesive grenades. And plasma grenades.”

“Damn...Halcyon you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“That we're going to blow the Sith to kingdom come?”

“Yep.”

“Alright men, load up! Take as many as you can carry, but be careful. I've seen thermal detonators rip straight through Mandalorian beskar like it was nothing.”

“Yes, sir.”

In two minutes, the men had several hundred pounds of explosive power strapped to their tac belts and had supplemented their rifles with a pair of blaster pistols.  
Approaching the storage rooms door, Cyr hit the open button and immediately tossed a concussion grenade as soon as he saw a flash of silver-gold armour.

“FIRE AT WILL, PRIORITY TARGETS FIRST!”

Cyr took cover behind the door and opened fire on several of the dazed Sith Commandos, managing to kill one when a few of the bolts hit him in the chest.  
Trask took aim at one of the Sith, using his rifles tactical scope to give the Commando a new hole to breath out of.

Three Sith began to charge out of cover and towards the storage room, before Private Turula threw a plasma grenade underhanded at them, managing to catch them in one miniature sun of death.  
All did not go well for Cyr’s squad however, as the first casualty happened three minutes into the fire fight.

“TAKE THIS YOU EVI-AAAGH!” Private Sedeb had popped out of the doorway arch to throw a frag grenade, but had been exposed for too long, and had been shot by one of the Sith’s disruptor bolts in the chest. At a rapid rate, the disruptor effect spread straight through his chest and ended his cries of anguish, as both his heart and lungs were no more.

With one last look at the ruined Marine, Cyr ripped a thermal detonator off his belt, and hit the five second timer on the small, inconspicuous grey ball.  
“ULGO! COVER YOUR EARS!” Holding the powerful explosive for three seconds before he tossed it, Cyr was already closing the storage room exit when the thermal detonator landed into the Sith’s main force of twenty or thirty men.

As soon as the final magnetic seal caught inside the door, a horrendous screech hissed through the three feet of durasteel, causing the squad to cover their ears in pain. The rumble that followed was bad enough that the door shuddered and groaned under the weight and heat of the baradium core exploding. A minute after Cyr regained his hearing, he opened the door.  
The door itself was slow, and sluggish in it's opening, its inner components damaged extensively. When it finally did open, the sight that greeted the Navy men and Marines was only able to be summed up in one word; annihilation.

“Whoa…”

“Yeah, whoa.”

“Sah, you er, you sure those detonators are safe?”

“As long as you don't touch the timer on them, Private, perfectly.” Cyr said as he inspected what he thought was a piece of one of the Sith Commandos. It was hard to tell though, through the ash and scorched hallway. What the detonator didn't destroy, it disfigured. The once grey and white hallway was now a blackened mess, wires hanging from the ceiling and panels ripped and shredded on the floor. What remained of the Sith was ash and a few pieces of their plasteel armour and their blasters and vibroblades.

“Halcyon, what do you want to do about Sedeb?” Trask asked as he walked up to the man, blaster still drawn and aimed loosely at the corner end of the hallway.

“If we weren't going down with the ship, I'd say secure his body and press on. But since we are, we're going to have to press on. Turula!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Recover Private Sedeb’s arms and ammunition. We need to keep moving.”

“But sir, we ca-”

“Private. I know. I know. I want to stay here, secure his body and hopefully give him some measure of peace. But we can't. The _Endar Spire_ is going down. We have to leave him. I don't do this because I want to. I do it because I have to.”

Cyr was solemn as he said those words, a feeling both foreign and familiar descending upon him. A death on his conscience, blood on his hands. Briefly he closed his eyes and saw a flicker of a dream-a memory-a vision, something.

_-hree thousand men the first day, five the ne-_

_-Sacrifice the Unassailable. The Manda-_

_-xun. A ground assault in that jungle is the onl-_

_-the Mass Shadow Generator will destroy Mal-_

_-yond the Outer Rim, Jedi. Something far worse-_

_-ERVE ME, FALLEN ONES! SERVE THE SITH EM-_

_-re we doing the right thing, Revan? Or are we sl-_

_-ou can not win, Revan!-_

“-yr. Cyr. CYR!”

“Wha-huh? Why are you yelling?”

“Y-you blanked out for a minute, sir. Are you okay, sir?”

Cyr tried to form his thoughts but he kept on replaying the images he had seen in his head. Admiral Mon Halan, an Inexpugnable-class tac/comm center, a meeting of generals, Republican and Jedi alike, that same shaggy haired blonde man from earlier and a Zabrak, a broken, bloodied Mandalorian at his feet, a darkness made flesh, stretching to the ceiling of a dark throne room, that same tall bald man with blue tattoos on his head, and...grey eyes filled with pity, and anger.

“I'm fine. Really. Just...I don't like leaving a man behind. Come on, we don't have much time.”

With a chorus of grunts of agreement, the four man squad was off. Rifles raised, they rounded the corner to the port side junction point, and came upon a slaughter.  
Dark Jedi, Jedi, Sith Commandos and Republic Marines lay dead on the hallway floors. Cyr moved quickly to the Jedi Knights and Republic Marines and tried to find a pulse on the few who weren't completely destroyed, but failed. When he rolled over a Jedi who's head was covered he felt his heart drop.

It was Vima Sunrider. The kind, pretty Jedi Master who visited him in the Enclave Healing Wing on Dantooine, the one whom he had flirted with whenever she seemed sad, one of the few Jedi aboard who didn't seem to be completely emotionless or self-satisfied. And then more flashes-images-sounds.

_-ercy Corps, is what I propose. What say y-_

_-oo long, dear friend, too long. How is Ale-_

_-not lose yourself in this war, Revan! It cor-_

_-hy? Tell me why, why you turn on us, w-_

_-ric said you changed, right before you ord-_

_-st time I will contact you, Revan. I will capt-_

_-ow are you feeling, Cyr? Back still burning-_

“Dammit. FUCK.” Cyr cried out as he stepped away from the dead woman, kicking one of the Dark Jedi’s hooded faces as he walked away from her body.

“Oh shite, that's Master Sunrider, isn't it, sah?”

“Yeah Private that is! Or was, because the Sith bastards KILLED HER!” Cyr was angry. Angry at the Sith, and angry at himself for these damned flashes that came without warning. Why were they about Revan? Why were they seen through his-Revan's-eyes? If they hit during the heat of battle, he’d lock up, and get himself or one of his men-since when did he start referring to them as his men?-killed.

“Hey, Halcyon.” Trask yelled from where he was, crouched over the body of one of the Dark Jedi.

“What, Ulgo?”

“Numbers are off. We have four dead Jedi-Master Sunrider and three of the Knight team-and nine dead Dark Jedi. Who are we missing?”

It clicked in his head then, those grey eyes. They were the same shade and shape of the Padawan Bastila’s. Who was also absent from the carnage all around him.

“Three Dark Jedi and Bastila and that Miraluka Knight, Kerra or something.”

“Yep, and Sergeant Major Braq isn't here either, I th-”

“BRIDGE! LET'S MOVE MEN, WE GOT DARK JEDI TO KILL! HOOAH!”

“HOOAH!” The Privates called out as they followed Cyr down the hall to the bridge hallway, all ready and eager, strangely brave and filled with newfound zeal at Cyr’s words. When they heard his words, what was once fear and anxiousness, was replaced by valour and a will to fight and win.  
Without slowing much, Cyr hit the door button at the end of the hallway and was greeted with a lancing arc of Force lightning. In between the searing pain more flashes came.

_-rk, light, and what lies in between. Jedi, Sith bo-_

_-nnot learn this power, without living it. Pre-_

_-ce a Jedi, now a Lord of the Sith, I christen you-_

_-ords of Malachor, Alek. You, the Lord of Hate an-_

_-evan, Lord of Revenge, Revan the Butcher, Rev-_

_-ve fought far too long to simply lay down and-_

Regaining his mind, Cyr opened his eyes and saw two Dark Jedi, one fighting fiercely with a Jedi, and the one who was letting the lighting flow free from his fingertips.  
With a newfound hate and thirst for revenge, Cyr charged at the twisted and corrupted Jedi, connecting with his midsection, but strangely he felt no bones shatter from the sudden influx of weight and instead shift and bend.

The Dark Jedi threw Cyr off of him and drew his lightsaber, done in a typical red shade. Recovering quickly, Cyr moved with astonishing speed as he drew his vibrosword and locked blades with the black robed Dark Sider who he believed was a Vahla by his fluidity of movements and non-rigid skeleton.

Cyr knew he had to finish this quickly, to help the wounded Miraluka Jedi and to get off the doomed vessel. With what only could be described as a roar, Cyr pushed back against the Vahla with all his might, unknowingly augmented by his strengthening connection to the Force, and managed to create a small gap in the Dark Jedi’s block.  
With a flurry of blows, he rained down easily blocked attack after attack before he went for the kill, slicing a long, deep gash all along the Vahla’s inner right wrist and arm. Crying out in anger, the Vahla let loose another torrent of lightning, but before it could connect with Cyr it seemed to turn and dissipate, allowing Cyr to charge once.

The Dark Jedi’s lightsaber met his sword mid swing, but it was a weaker block than the first, the Vahla’s strength waning as his blood drained out at a modest rate. Spotting another opening, Cyr kicked at the Dark Jedi’s knee, connecting with enough force to stagger the Dark Jedi slightly, just enough to allow for the two seconds it took for Cyr to grab one of the blaster pistols strapped to his hip, and let loose a dozen or so bolts at the Vahla.

The Vahla managed to deflect all but three of them, one hitting his stomach, one hitting his left shoulder, and one nicking his neck enough to cause immediate pain followed by a shortness of breath for the Dark Jedi. The bolt had managed clip the side enough to cause significant damage that burned down to the bone, but not enough to immediately kill him.  
With one last bolt to the face, the Vahla collapsed dead. Without missing a beat, Cyr dropped the pistol and lashed out at the Human who had managed to fling the Miraluka Jedi against the wall and was advancing on her with his yellow lightsaber, a holdover from his days as a Jedi or a trophy most likely.

The Dark Jedi quickly put Cyr on the defensive, unleashing a series of heavy hitting strikes that pressed him back to where his still twitching squad lay. Several times the lightsaber seemed ready to amputate a limb of Cyr’s before it was repelled enough that all it left was an intense burn. When one such strike seemed intent on removing Cyr’s head from his body, the Human holding it turned to the side to deflect a green lightsaber held by the Miraluka Jedi.

Cyr, leaping at the chance to return the almost-favour to the Dark Jedi, began to land light, glancing blows on him, distracting him enough that the Miraluka was able to use the Force to toss him into a bulkhead, with enough force to crush it slightly.

Not to be outdone, the Human let loose a snaking beam of orange that seemed to glow malevolently. Acting on instinct, Cyr knocked the Jedi out of the way, taking the blow. Immediately pain exploded through his body. He felt like his very body was stretching and compressing and ripping. More flashes came to him, through the haze of pain.

_-rth Nihilus, Lord of Hunger, born of the Forc-_

_-Sion, Lord of Pain, born of death and agony-_

_-nd I, the Lady of Betrayal, born of those who tur-_

_-nce we were a Triumvirate, now a Council of D-_

_-ne Lord remains out of reach, the Lord of Sorrow-_

_-ook! See what I have accomplished! I ordered th-_

The pain lessened as the beam arced to the Miraluka, causing her to fall unconscious in her already weakened state but allowing Cyr to break free long enough to attempt an attack on the Dark Jedi, before he felt a burning through the left side of his stomach.

Looking down he saw a beam of yellow, sticking through the outermost part of his stomach. He then looked into the eyes of the Dark Jedi who had stabbed him, and before that ugly, ashen gray face could twist into a smirk or a grin, Cyr stepped forward on the yellow blade enough to be an inch away from his foe and swung the vibrosword he somehow still held, overhead and brought it down on the Human’s bald head, splitting the skull in two. The Dark Jedi twitched and blinked each eye rapidly out of sync as the vibrating blade sawed it's way down through his mouth and jaw, before he released his grip on his lightsaber and fell back.

Reaching down, Cyr fumbled for the activation switch on the lightsaber before he managed to find it-a button hidden under a flip latch-and the malevolent yellow blade disappeared. The hilt of the lightsaber fell to the ground, as the scent of burnt flesh-his burnt flesh-wafted up to Cyr’s nose. As soon as the scent hit him, he doubled over to throw up, immediately regretting it as more pain shot through his torso. Fumbling, he dropped his pack and hit the ground hard with it. He began to rummage through the pack, looking for an emergency kolto injector and a adrenal stim. One to fix him, one to keep him going. When he started to see spots, he thought it was all over before a green figure appeared.

“Don'tcha worry, sah. Wyl’s here to help ya.”

Rummaging in one of the side pockets, the Twi’lek let out a tired cheer when he produced a kolto injector and stim.

“Whoo, two ‘sabers and all you got was a little lighting and a burn wound? You're somethin’ else, sah. Kolto first, then the stim...I think?”

Stabbing the small needle into Cyr’s neck followed by the two pronged tab, Wyl turned his head to look at their recovering companions, Turula still twitching as he sat up against the doorway, while Trask crouched next to him and pressed a kolto injector into his neck as well.

“T-thanks, Wyl. Check on the Jedi, will you? She got beat up pretty bad, even for a Jedi.” Cyr said as he felt the pain subside and be replaced with energy, the adrenaline beginning to work it's way through his body.

“Right, sah.” Wyl walked over to the Miraluka, pausing to kick the Vahla’s head and grumble something about twinkle fingers. Slowly, Wyl turned the Jedi on her back and felt for a pulse at her throat, careful not to agitate any existing wounds.

“How's she look, Wyl?”

“She's in a bad way, sah. Kolto injectors can only go so far. If we can get her inna tank of it, different story. Whaddya wanna do about her, sah?” Wyl turned to see Cyr walking slowly over to him, Cyr’s hand covering the scorched hole in his side.

“I'll carry her.”

“Halcyon, you can't! You're-”

“Slow already, I won't be worth shit in a fight. I'll carry her and stay in the back with a pistol. Trust me Ulgo.”

Trask stared at his wounded friend for a few seconds before he let out an exasperated sigh.

“I do. Alright, but be smart about this. If we have to run you have to save-”

“Her. I'll give her off to Wyl or Turula and slow down the Sith for as long as I can. She's a Jedi, Trask. Not a whole lot of them. But Navy men? We're a cred a dozen. Now someone grab those two lightsabers for me, I want my trophies.” Grabbing the Jedi’s arms, he leaned her forward before he picked her up by her midsection and put her over his shoulder, straining his wound briefly, but not as bad as a one who wasn't a Force-sensitive would have.

“Here y-you go, sir. Go-good work.” Private Turula dropped the lightsabers in to Cyr’s pack, still twitching from the lightning. Cyr looked at him for a bit before he spoke.

“Thanks, Turula. As soon as we get off that ship, we'll get that twitch looked at by the medics. Can't have a good kid like you sound like he's always hopped up on glitterstim.”

“R-right, sir.”

“Alright, Trask you got point. Wyl and Turula, port and starboard. I'll bring up the rear. And remember, shoot at anything that moves. If it's friendly, IFF will lock up the trigger.”

“Aye, aye, sah.

“Ye-yes, sir.”

“Got it.”

“Good, let's move out.”

Moving with a sense of urgency, they reached the bridge door. Posting up on the door, Wyl and Turula on the left and Trask and Cyr on the right, Trask nodded at Wyl, and the Twi’lek pushed the open button quickly. The men tried to open fire as soon as the door opened as they had done before, but a loud beeping noise came from each blaster, and the triggers refused to move. The same noise came from the other side of the door as Sergeant Major Braq and what remained of his squad and the bridge crew came face to face with the Navy men and Marines.

“By the Force, that you Braq?”

“Aye, that you Ulgo?” A distinctly accented voice called out.

“Yeah, it's me. Got Halcyon and two Privates with me. And a wounded Jedi.”

“Well, get your ass in here! Corporal M’see, we got wounded!”

The squad walked into the damaged bridge relieved some of the crew was still alive.

“Halcyon, the hell happened to you?” Braq, a stout but commanding Rodian, said as soon as he saw the petty officer.

“The Chief killed two Dark Jedi, sah. Took a ‘saber ta the gut, but he got ‘em. Sah.” Wyl answered for Halcyon as he gently put down the wounded Miraluka. The medic, Corporal M’see-a Zabrak-ran over with his heavy duty medical bag, and got to work on looking over the Jedi.

“Yeah, ‘saber to gut. And lightning. And that orange lightshow. Fun times.” Cyr said as he sat down in one of the chairs on the bridge. He looked down at the hole in his gut and was surprised to see it wasn't a hole anymore, and rather a deep, red depression.

“Huh. That's some damn good kolto.”

“Wyl, Turula where's the rest of your squad?”

“Th-they got vent-vented, sir. Me an-and Wyl are all th-that's left. Sedeb he g-got killed.”

“Dammit. Sith bastards, can't win fair so they fight dirty. And why are you twitching like a Mon Calamari who's dehydrated?”

“That Dark Jedi that Cyr killed? He shocked us all pretty bad. Cyr and Turula got the worst of it. He's fine otherwise, right Turula?” Trask said as he patted Turula on the back.

“R-right, si-sir.”

“Hmm. Can you still shoot semi-straight?”

“Y-yes, s-sir. Fin-fingers ar-aren’t t-tw-twitchy.”

“Well alright then. M’see, how's the Jedi?”

The Zabrak held up one finger before he gently removed the woman’s tunic and revealed a multicolored collection of bruises, burns and cuts all across her torso. M’see reached into the bag and pulled out a large plasteel syringe filled with fast acting enriched kolto, and pierced her jugular vein and pressed down on the plunger.

“She's stable, for now. But unless we can haul ass off of the Spire, we'll all die. If I can get her into a kolto tank on world, she should recover in a week or less with her Jedi training.” M’see covered the cuts with a sturdy multi-fiber bandage and replaced her tunic with care.

“At least she's stable. Alright men, I think we have only one recourse for action now; we make a push for the escape pods. We hit ‘em hard and hit ‘em fast. If we're lucky, we'll get most of ourselves off the ship and make planet fall.”

“And if we're not lucky, sah?” Wyl piped up from beside Cyr.

“We make the pricks pay for every second.”

“Braq, I ever tell you your plans are terrible?” Halcyon said as he slowly stood up before cautiously picking up the still unconscious Jedi. Reaching down his hip, he felt an empty holster and cursed under his breath about his stupidity.

“Halcyon, I ever tell you to shut up?” The Rodian shot back as he reloaded what appeared to be a ZI-54 disruptor cannon MK. IV. Illegal on most worlds, but so was war, and Cyr knew Braq always liked to have the edge. His skill at cheating at Pazaak proved that.

“Once or twice, maybe.”

“Try a hundred. You sure you can carry her? That ‘saber wound looks pretty bad.”

“Yeah I'm sure. Looks worse than it really is. Could I borrow a pistol though? Dropped mine when I fought the two Dark Jedi.”

“Here. I'm gonna want it back when we make it through this.” Braq pulled out his own personal C.W.A HB pistol and handed it to Cyr. Cyr looked it over for a second and chuckled when he saw how many notches were on the barrel.

“No problem, Braq. Thanks. Don't worry, I won't add my own notches until I surpass your own.”

“Arrogant bastard. Alright men, DOUBLE TIME. WE HAVE TO REINTRODUCE DEMOCRACY AND PEACE TO THESE SITH THROUGH DEADLY FORCE. WHO'S WITH ME?!”

“WE ARE SERGEANT MAJOR!” The resounding response was a practiced one. Clearly, this wasn't the first time Braq had given this speech.

“Your speeches are getting worse, Braq.”

“Dammit, Ulgo, I get enough lip from Halcyon, I don't need it from your noble ass.”

“Technically, his ass isn't noble anymore.”

As one, Ulgo and Braq responded with a most succinct answer.

“Halcyon, shut up.”

* * *

 

**Two Hours Earlier**

“You are certain?”  
“Yes, Mi’Lord. The NIO reports that she-along with a Jedi Knight team led by Master Sunrider-will be aboard the... _Endar Spire_ , a converted Hammerhead-class cruiser, now a Command and Communications capital ship.”

So Vima would be aboard as well.

That made his heart clench in an uncomfortable manner. He still remembered how she had taken on the Council on their behalf, championed their cause as right and just. How she would always be there, but a holovid away. How she had been the only one to speak out against Maric’s exile.  
But now she had taken her as an apprentice.  
Revan’s killer.  
  
Oh he knew that Bandon-may he suffer a thousand torments-had been the one to destroy the _Spirit of Serroco_ , but if she hadn't been using her detestable Battle Meditation, they could have pushed back the Republic.

Revan would still be alive.

His brother wouldn't be ash floating in a gas giant's atmosphere.

Sunrider made her choice.

“And she chose poorly.”

“Mi’Lord?”

“I want the best Commandos you can muster, Gelanata. Prep them for a boarding operation with orders to capture as many Knights as they can. Feel free to take the...Fallen as shock troopers. And remember Major, I want her alive.”

The Fallen were a difficult issue, to say the least. After Revan’s death many of the younger Commanders and Sith had fallen completely to the Dark Side. Assassinations and duels became far too common. They had to be restrained, until they could be helped. But they couldn't be. The Dark Side fed on their hatred of the Republic, their anger at Revan’s death, and their grief at his loss. It had seeped into their very being. Eventually, when the prison facilities began to reach near maximum capacity for Force wielders, he had received a message from the Lady of Betrayal.

In it, she outlined a simple plan to deal with the solution: The Republic at large already hated the Sith Empire of Revan for the Tragedy of Telos IV. He was already a monster in their eyes, and should use it to his advantage. So he had the Fallen pumped full of adrenaline or their species equivalent and Kessel spice and wired with a neurotoxin release system for easy...disposal.  
He knew that she had her own reasons for helping him. Every one of the Lords had their own agendas. Sion wanted to fight and die, and die and fight. Nihilus-in it's more lucid moments-wished to eradicate the Republic and Mandalorians, and gorge it self upon their still twitching carcasses. Traya...well, the Lady of Betrayal’s plots were intricate and almost unknownable. But he did know one thing that she wished: the death of her true apprentice’s killer.

“Yes, Mi’Lord. How do you wish for us to handle Master Sunrider?”

“Give her two chances, Gelanata. Once, before you engage. And twice after the first Knight falls. Phrase it as an out.”

“And if she refuses both, Mi’Lord?”

He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat at the thought of the galaxy without her smile in it. He loathed himself in that moment, more than any other, save for the Tragedy of Telos IV.

“Make it quick, Gelanata. Painless if possible. Understood?”

“Yes Mi’Lord. My team will be ready within the hour.”

“Very good, dismissed Major.”

As Gelanata walked down _The Revanchist’s_ bridge, he looked out at the Tarisian Blockade, and wondered, not for the first time, what would his brothers have done?

Revan would analyze every aspect of every possible battle for hours on end, before creating a plan both masterfully simple, and idiotically complex. But it would work. And then he would retreat for a day, to reflect on the losses of both sides. To remember.

Maric would choose the weakest point in their defenses and give those that defended it one of his famous speeches, a speech that would invigorate the winded, give heart to the faltered, and piece together morale once shattered. And those who defended it, would do so to the last platoon, the last squad, the last man. And then when the battle was over, he would walk or fly along the battlefield or the wreckage of the battle and feel them, their last echoes.

He had no such rituals or customs. His mind could not visualize the possibilities and outcomes of a battle as Revan could, nor could he deliver a speech worthy of his men. He knew what he was; a warrior. His main skill was with a lightsaber or blade, the only reason he was even the Lord of The Sith was because his brother had dragged him up along with him. They called him the Lord of Hate now, and in a way he had earned the title. He hated the Mandalorians, and along with Revan and Maric, crippled them. Their ilk would never rise again, as it should be. And now he was sending a tenth of his fleet and his best men after a single woman.

But she wasn't any woman was she? No, to him she was the person that killed the stars. Murdered his brother. Destroyed the only chance for survival this galaxy had.  
So she would die. By his hand, slowly and painfully. And when the True Sith came, he would fight them for every inch. He would fight them until he was alone in the fight, and then he would fight ten times fiercer. He knew they would never win, divided as they were, but he would give the True Sith a wound deep and wide. One that if it managed to heal, would leave a scar upon them forever.  
Maric had the right of it then.

“Not all battles can be won. But all battles can not be lost.”

Or perhaps his brother simply enjoyed spouting cryptic nonsense.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Big shout out to grimmauxillatrix for being my beta!


End file.
